


lost in thoughts, all alone

by taywen



Category: Uprooted - Naomi Novik
Genre: Bad Ending, Gen, Horror, Non-Consensual Touching, Pre-Canon, Uprooted Week 2017, and so are the people it corrupts, the Wood is creepy af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 18:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12463581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taywen/pseuds/taywen
Summary: Hanna tries to escape the Wood, but the ending of this tale is already written.





	lost in thoughts, all alone

**Author's Note:**

> written for Uprooted Week day 1 - changes. specifically, the changes a character trapped in a heart-tree goes through haha I hate myself good bye
> 
> ... yes, the title is from a video game theme song lmao

13

He brings her into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree.

12

He brings her into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree. She struggles weakly: her body has already accepted its fate, even if her mind cries out for escape.

11

He brings Hanna into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree. If he hears her broken begging, he pays it no mind. Hanna struggles, but the ropes are too tight and she cannot escape.

10

He brings Hanna into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree. Hanna begs him; she remembers the young man who visited her in the garden, full of foolish but earnest yearning for the mother taken from him too early. That young man is gone.

9

Vasily brings Hanna into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree. Hanna screams at him and at the Wood and at the world until her voice cracks and dies and all she can do is sob in despair, her pride broken and forgotten. No one comes to save her, but the hope lingers until the end.

8

Vasily brings Hanna into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree. Hanna struggles until the blood runs freely from her wrists and ankles, eagerly soaked up by the thirsty ground of the Wood. It will devour her, mind and soul, and leave nothing of Hanna behind but a pretty, empty shell.

7

Vasily brings Hanna into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree. Hanna tries to escape until the very end, struggling to slip Vasily’s grasp, to return to her children and her husband, but her body is too weak. Hunger and exhaustion and terror have sapped her strength; her panicked mind turns in circle until it is too late.

6

Vasily brings Hanna into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree. Hanna claws his throat out with a strength born from desperation, knowing only that she has to stop his honeyed words. Dark, viscous liquid drips from the wound, and from his lips when Vasily smiles at her, a predator confident in the knowledge that its prey is trapped.

5

Vasily brings Hanna into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree. Vasily sings softly to Hanna, but not with the voice that sang to her in the garden; she does not recognize the words either. They are not Rosyan: the strange words remind her of the spell-tongue, though no witch or wizard would ever sing their spells. Hanna does not notice the heart-tree until it is too late.

5

Vasily brings Hanna into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree. Hanna throws herself off Vasily’s horse and stumbles through the Wood, her eyes searching the shadows beneath the trees for any sign of the fields that border this cursed place, but she cannot even recall what the plains of tall grass looked any longer. The Wood is cold; Hanna has forgotten the touch of the sun.

4

Vasily brings Hanna into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree. Hanna throws herself off Vasily’s horse, reaching with clawed hands for the freedom she knows lies just out of sight. That slice of sky, the fields of grass, they only just faded from view. A few steps, and Hanna will see her freedom; a few steps more, and she will be free. Vasily catches her up in his arms before she can take more than a stumbling step.

3

Vasily brings Hanna into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree. Hanna throws herself off Vasily’s horse, limping on weak feet towards her freedom. The sky is so blue; the tall grass is a lush green below it. Hanna stumbles as she draws nearer: she can almost feel the sun on her skin, she is so close. Vasily catches her up in his arms and carries her kicking and screaming back to his horse, as if she were no more than a recalcitrant child.

2

Vasily brings Hanna into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree. Hanna throws herself off Vasily’s horse, stumbling on bloody feet towards her freedom until they give out beneath her. She drags herself forward, careless of her body’s protests. If she can only get out of the Wood, Kasimir’s soldiers or the Dragon, _someone_ will help her. She tumbles out onto the section of burnt land marking the boundary of the Wood and lies, dazed, in the sun until Vasily stalks out of the Wood and drags her back.

1

Vasily brings Hanna into the Wood, deep beneath the dark boughs, and binds her to the heart-tree. Hanna throws herself off Vasily’s horse, staggering on numb, bloodied feet towards her freedom. She stumbles but catches herself, heedless of the way the bark scrapes her already-abused hands. She can see Kasimir’s soldiers through the trees, a ragged sob escaping her as she stumbles forward with renewed strength. They do not move to enter the Wood, but Hanna cannot blame them: it is an accursed place. The closest soldier catches her as she crosses the scorched boundary, her legs giving out at last.

Vasily stares down at her when she looks up, his hands tight around her. “Did you truly believe you could escape?” the Wood asks through Vasily’s mouth.

0

Vasily has abandoned all pretenses of humanity by the time the Wood comes into view. He left the remnants of his escort behind the night before, with orders to delay the Polnyan soldiers pursuing them.

Hanna thrashes in her bonds with renewed vigour when she sees the dark mass of trees as they crest the rise, but her wrists and ankles are already bloody from the rope and her screams are muffled by the crude gag Vasily - or the thing wearing Vasily’s face - shoved between her teeth.

“Hush now, Hania,” Vasily says, stroking a hand over her hair. “Shall I sing you a lullaby? You enjoyed my songs.” He hums softly as he nudges his horse into a trot down towards the Valley, his hand tightening into a punishing grip to keep her in the saddle before him as she tries to throw herself off.

She will not beg. She is the Queen of Polnya, and Kasimir’s soldiers will catch up to them before they reach the Wood, or the Dragon will descend from his tower, or Vasily will come to his _senses_ —

But none of those things are meant to be.

The world seems to fall away when they pass beneath the boughs of the Wood. Vasily stops humming. The trees are still, despite the breeze that had stirred the grass in the fields. No birds sing, even in the distance.

Were it not for the sound of her own terrified breaths, Hanna would think she’s gone deaf. The Wood swallows it all, but still it hungers for more.

The rope is soaked through with blood; she cannot feel her hands or feet, but she’s frantic now, pulling at the bonds without a care for the damage she causes herself: an animal caught in a snare, desperate enough to gnaw off its own trapped limb to escape. A foot slips free, evident only in that her range of movement increases. She almost sobs with relief and waits until Vasily goes to adjust his grip, turning the horse deeper into the Wood, before throwing herself off again.

Vasily swears in Rosyan, but Hanna pays it no mind. She can still see the sky beyond the boundary of the Wood: if she can just reach the swaying grass shining beneath the sun—

She rips out the gag and screams as she staggers toward freedom. Her legs give out after only a few steps but she drags herself onward, her bloodied hands digging furrows in the dirt.

“Hania,” Vasily sighs, his boot coming down on the trailing end of the rope tied to her ankle and arresting her progress completely.

Hanna sobs then, her hands outstretched towards the field. “ _Help me_ ,” she screams. “Somebody help me!”

Vasily tuts as he kneels down beside her, one hand against her back pressing her inexorably into the loam. “Who’s going to help you, Hanna?” he asks gently. “Some stupid peasants who’ve lived in the shadow of the Wood their entire lives? They know what happens to people who enter the Wood.” He shifts, his hand gripping her shoulder to turn her over; Hanna uses the movement to club him across the face with her bound hands.

Vasily just laughs. She still has a single ring on her hand - the rest were all lost on the way here - and it has cut into Vasily’s cheek, but what oozes slowly out of the wound is not blood. It’s dark and viscous, trailing lazily down his jaw; Hanna flinches as the fluid drips onto her face, and Vasily easily scoops her into his arms in that moment of inattention. His grip tightens painfully when she continues to struggle, until she can’t draw breath and has to go limp.

The horse is where Vasily left it, unnaturally still but for the steady rise and fall of its flanks. Vasily heaves her bodily over its back, her arms on one side and her legs on the other, and climbs up behind her.

“You only make this more difficult for yourself,” Vasily chides, holding the reins in one hand; the other rests lightly on her back.

He did not retie the rope, or put the gag back in, a declaration of confidence so complete that Hanna can barely breathe. If bonds and silence are no longer necessary, then— 

She cranes her neck, straining to see the open sky, until it too is swallowed up by the trees and there is nothing left but the Wood.

Hanna loses time, light-headed with terror, exhaustion, and hunger, but movement caught in the corner of her eye rouses her. Hanna jerks her head up, mouth opening to cry for help, but the words die in her throat.

“I suppose you’ve never seen a walker before. Get away,” Vasily adds in a snarl as the walker moves closer with a jerky motion. “She’s _mine_.”

The walker draws itself up, its black-knot eyes staring at Vasily. After a moment, it turns and is lost among the trees, the wood of its body blending perfectly into its surroundings.

“Where are you taking me?” Hanna asks, her voice little more than a whisper.

Vasily’s hand smooths down her back, proprietary: as if she is a prized pet to be coddled. “There’s no harm in you knowing. I’m surprised you haven’t realized it already, Hania.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Hania?” Vasily sing-songs the pet-name, as if he has any right to it. No one but Kasimir has called her that since she was married, and even that was in private. “You’re not from Polnya, or Rosya, are you. The people of those countries all have a trace of the Wood in them, you know. Not enough to matter, of course: even the people that dwell in the Valley, who bear it most strongly, are not unduly affected by it without that little _push_. But there’s nothing of the Wood in you.

“Or, there wasn’t. That isn’t quite true now, but you needn’t worry about it for much longer.” Vasily continues to stroke her back; the touch makes her skin crawl, but she’s too tired to even attempt to cringe away. “The point is: you wouldn’t know about the heart-trees, and your dear husband didn’t tell you about them. Perhaps Kazik did not wish to alarm you, but I think you’re already rather alarmed, no?”

Hanna wants to beg him to stop. Stop speaking, stop taking her deeper into the Wood, just _stop_ — But her tongue refuses to work. She prefers the silence, but she can only listen in horror as Vasily calmly explains what fate awaits her.

“Oh.” Vasily draws his horse up, sliding easily from the saddle. “We’re here.”

The heart-tree rises from the centre of the clearing, its limbs laden with golden fruit.

“I’m almost jealous, Hania,” Vasily says as he pulls her down. She struggles again, but he doesn’t even seem to notice her screams and flailing. “I’ll never know what it’s like to become part of the Wood, not like you.” He gazes up at the heart-tree hungrily, all traces of the young man who had lost his mother too early gone from his face.

He bears her easily across the clearing. “Hush now,” he murmurs. “Hush.” He sings a few words in Rosyan, the melody familiar even if the meaning is foreign: a lullaby, the same one she still sings to Marechek whenever a summer thunderstorm passes overhead.

Marechek. Sigmund. Kasimir.

There will be a war, and the Wood will feed on all those senseless deaths, and it will _not stop_ until her family and Vasily’s are dead and Polnya and Rosya are broken, if Hanna does not _do something_.

Hanna breaks out of Vasily’s grip, but her feet cannot carry her weight; he catches her arm before she can even fall to the ground and presses her back against the heart-tree.

The bark flows up over her feet, drawing her closer to the trunk. Hanna tries to thrash free, but the bark covers her body in a matter of seconds, stifling her screams as it seals over her mouth.

The last thing she sees is Vasily crumpling to the ground at the foot of the heart-tree, a puppet with its strings cut.

**Author's Note:**

> “Marek’s hope had alway been a false one, I’d discovered. Anyone who’d been caught inside for more than a week or two was too much part of the tree to be brought out again.” - Agnieszka


End file.
